I'm Just A Woman, Standing In Front Of A Blog, Asking People To Love Her

It’s been a very, very long time since I did this. Not as long as it could be; it hasn’t been years, or decades. But it has been months, and I find that really bloody annoying. It’s been a long time since I’ve sit down and actually written, and because it’s been so long, it’s been much harder to start. I can count about twenty hours worth of bus journeys where I’ve sat and wracked my brains desperately for something funning, or interesting, or witty to write about and every idea I’ve come up with has then been shot down because I’ve been too scared, or didn’t think I could pull it off, or something equally shallow and vapid.

It’s been phenomenally irritating. As the stretch where I didn’t write became longer it became easier to come up with reasons why I shouldn’t. And it’s got to the point where I’ve just got sick of the inside of my own head being a lazy, scared prick, and I just want to do what I enjoy.

In the past, I wrote because I want people to like me. Wanting people to like me is the main cause behind the majority of the things I do, as I’m sure it is for many people. That’s still the main reason I write publicly, but that’s now tied in with the idea that I want to improve. Where I blog most of the time it involves having an idea for a title, or something that I found interesting/annoying, or stealing an idea from someone else, and then just hammering out 500 words on the topic blindly, without really thinking in through, and then not reading it back before I posted it. To be honest, that’s what this post is going to be. But I want to change what comes next. I want to be a better writing, and a better entertainer. This is going to be a learning curve for all of us. I want to plan properly, come up with proper ideas and arguments, and write real jokes. I love comedy, and journalism, and politics, and I want to be good at them. Mostly because I want people to like me, but also because I want to like myself.

I’m not going to read this back, because I know I’ll think I’m whining (I am) and I’ll bottle out. NO. JUST POST THAT DAMN THING. STOP BLOODY FRETTING.IT’LL BE FINE. Probably. Or I might finally start receiving the hate mail I’ve been suspecting is coming my way for years – but that just might be me being pedantic.

Okay. Don’t red it back. Just press send.

Losing Touch With Reality Through Technology

I was having a brief catch up with Mum last night, since I've been away. I told her all about London, and my friends. She told me about the cats, and the snow, and then "Oh, I wrote a sonnet the other day. Do you want a cup of tea?"
Alarm bells went off. My mother wrote a sonnet. I assumed it was for her Open University course (she's studying Introduction To The Arts). What do I do now? Should I ask her if I can read it? I want to read it, certainly. But I don't want to read it while she's there - there's a chance that might lead to a talk about 'feelings', and 'what it really means'. I'm rubbish at both of these things. A better idea would be to try and read it slyly, behind her back. So all I'd have to do is hack her computer - easy, she told me her password ages ago and isn't yet suspicious of me enough to change it. 
No, wait, she's doing most of her OU work on paper. That means she's probably written it in a notebook. 
How do you hack notebooks?


In other news, my home girl Nikki has restarted her photography blog. I like it because she talks about me a lot.